


Wish You Well

by HalfBakedPoet



Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escape, F/F, Listen they all need therapy, One Shot, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Prison, Spoilers, Therapy, buckle up for hurtsville beep beep, mental health, thasmin, this hurt me writing it, we all need therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfBakedPoet/pseuds/HalfBakedPoet
Summary: The only reason my heart beats is 'cause you showed it howThe Doctor is assigned a prison therapist. Yaz faces life without the Doctor.Direct prequel to "Feel Alive" in this one shot series, titled for Katie Herzig's song of the same name.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668127
Comments: 31
Kudos: 68





	Wish You Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freefallvertigo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefallvertigo/gifts).



“Just came in from a Judoon contract,” said Yax. He led Kassa along the rows of solitary cells, his heavy boots echoing through the hall. “Supposed to be one of the most dangerous in the galaxy. The whole universe, even.” They stopped outside the last on the block. There were no windows to the inside; but for the green blinking security panel, it would have seemed an ordinary cement wall. He turned to her, hand resting on his holster. “You sure you don’t want anyone else in there with you?”

Kassa glanced down at her tablet, then back up at him through her glasses. “That’ll do, Yax. Not like I don’t speak with high-level criminals on the regular anyway.” The guard’s grizzled face fell, but he stepped to the side at attention. “If there’s a problem, I’ll ring, but dealings with my patients must remain confidential.” She scanned into the cell, the palm reader humming to life.

Inside was—as every other solitary cell—small and spare, just enough space for a bed, a chair and a panel of wall that concealed a toilet and sink. There was a small barred window to the outside of the asteroid, all the darkness of space with some ambient light from other parts of the prison filtering in. The inmate lay on the bed on her back, hands folded on her chest, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t look away from the ceiling when Kassa entered and the door shut behind her with the hiss and clunk of airtight locking mechanisms. In fact, she didn’t react at all. Kassa watched her with neutral curiosity: even if she hadn’t been told this was the most dangerous person in the galaxy, she likely wouldn’t have believed the woman lying on the bed across from her was capable of the crimes that landed her in maximum security. Despite her expression of hyper focused consternation, this blonde, smallish woman had an undeniable air of kindness to her; the sort that told Kassa chance of rehabilitation was high. A good sign, at least. Kassa coughed, and the woman turned her head from the ceiling to look at her.

“Hello,” Kassa said in a friendly voice, her head bobbing forward a little. “All settled, I take it?”

The woman blinked at her coolly. “If you call forcible teleport, registration, and decontamination settling, then yeah. Got that done an hour ago.” She spoke in a clipped tone.

“Are you hurt?” Kassa crossed to the chair and sat opposite the prisoner, tablet on her lap.

“That’s a question.”

“You have an answer.” The woman’s lips pressed together and her eyebrows edged closer together by a fraction. Not fond of questions, not fond of being pressed, noted.

“Not physically, no. Not hurt.”

“Good. Shall we introduce ourselves or are we going to trade snipes like this anonymously? Granted, I’ve read some of your file, so this would be one-sided anonymity.”

“What’re you here for, then? To psychoanalyze me? Put me in a straightjacket? Only, they’ve taken my coat and that’s the only jacket I’d want right now. Nothing in there of consequence, I’d just feel better if they didn’t take it.” She tugged at the gray jumper disapprovingly.

“Your things have been safeguarded in the personal effects vaults,” said Kassa, an offering of sorts. “You’ll see them again upon your release.”

“Yeah? And when’s that? Next millennia? Or ever?” The woman sneered.

Kassa looked down at her tablet. “Says here you have a number of consecutive life sentences…”

“Well my life is longer and more complicated than you can possibly imagine. Far beyond the standard. Likely the walls of this place will crumble before I die and I’ll just be free that way.” She scowled at the ceiling, lines etching between her brows.

The subtly hostile deflection, the closed mannerisms. It clicked. “You have no idea why you’re here, do you?”

“A platoon of Judoon hacked into my ship and teleported me here without warning or my consent, then your protocol stripped me of my coat and my sonic, not to mention some level of my dignity. I was already having the worst day, almost died, lost my best friend, and might never see my fam again. So yeah, I have no idea why I’m here and I’m not about to care what some prison psychiatrist has to tell me about life because I’ve literally lived thousands of your lives, and even those have been stripped from me.”

Kassa’s eyebrows involuntarily climbed her forehead as the prisoner spoke quickly, anger rising in pitch with each sentence. True, most of this woman’s record was redacted. In fact, it was hard to tell from the file what she was in for; most of her “history” section was a blank. Kassa composed herself too slowly.

“Yeah, I must sound mad to you,” said the woman with a rueful laugh. “Spend enough time with me, you’ll catch up. Or you won’t.”

“I don’t need to catch up,” said Kassa. “I only need to hear what you have to say.”

The woman only glowered more at the ceiling.

“Do you have a name other than…?” asked Kassa. “First name, surname, nickname? We’ll be spending some time together, so we should be a little more familiar than just ‘you’ back and forth.”

The woman closed her eyes, resignation easing the petulant lines on her face. “My name is my business. I am to you what I’m to everyone else: I’m the Doctor.”

“And how are you feeling today? How’s the week been?”

“Busy, it’s been good to be busy. Keeps my mind occupied, off of…”

“Back to work, then?”

“Yeah, back on the route, I took a lot of leave. Kept getting secondment, they thought I was tapped for MI6…”

“And were you?”

“If I could tell you, I wouldn’t, would I? It’d be classified anyway.”

“Too right.”

“…I keep wondering what the point of all this is.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, if she’s gone, and my life goes back to normal, and Ryan and Graham’s lives go back to normal, it’d be like she never existed.”

“But she did.”

“But she doesn’t, not anymore.”

“It can only help to talk here.”

“But if the point is for me to get over this, over her…”

“That’s not the point of grief counseling.”

“Then what _is_ the point, eh? Because if it’s to forget about her, I’m done here.”

“I never said you were going to forget your friend. Nor did I ever say that was the point. What if the point is for you to celebrate her life, for you to carry your thoughts of her and maybe to feel a little less pain over time?”

“But what if losing the pain means forgetting her?”

“You don’t have to be in pain.”

“What if I _want_ to feel it?”

“If acknowledging your pain is what you need right now.”

“But what if it’s not?”

“What is it you want, then?”

“What?”

“If you don’t want to get better and you don’t want to be in pain, we’re at an impasse.”

“I don’t… that’s not fair.”

“Yaz, I can only help you if you want to be helped. I’m here to listen and let you grieve and process, and that’s what it is, a process. Be patient with yourself. Some days will be better than others, and some will be utter bollocks, and we’ll work on getting you to at least accepting that.”

“...I just want her back.”

“I know. That’s all right. That’s normal.”

“…She was the furthest thing from normal, you know. That’s why I loved her.”

“Good to acknowledge that.”

“And I think that’s why things returning to normal without her… that makes it feel more final, you know? Life goes back to normal, but it wasn’t normal _with_ her, so it’s just more of… the fact she’s gone.”

_Of all the things, prison therapy_ , the Doctor snorted to herself as, for the second time, Kassa seated herself across the cell in the lonely chair, tablet in hand. She was a pleasantly plump, bespectacled woman, the kind that wore overlarge, draping cardigans and glasses with denim trousers. The simple ring on her left hand said she was married; the somewhat strained, over-compensatory kindness she employed and her overly tight hair bun was evidence of perhaps not a peaceful marriage, not all the time, anyway.

They regarded each other for a moment, each waiting for the other to start. Kassa spoke first, “All right, Doctor?”

“Same as last,” said the Doctor, the corners of her mouth pulling in opposite directions. She stuffed her hands in her hoodie. The pockets in this place were always empty; she made a mental note to find a spoon or something to put in them. It would feel less lonely that way. “Still no idea why I’m here. Lost my TARDIS, lost my fam, lost my sonic, lost my coat.” The Doctor scowled.

“And your best friend.” Kassa tapped the tablet, taking notes.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

“A way out.”

Kassa smirked. “Clever, but I can only recommend adjustments to your sentence based on our conversations here and your improvement.”

“And who’s to say I haven’t improved already?”

“It’s only been a couple days.”

“Always been a fast learner.”

There was a beat, their tête-à-tête banter reaching an impasse. The Doctor reclined on the bed against the wall, crossing her legs. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting. She could do this all year, banter with a therapist, her own thoughts whizzing far ahead and back again, lapping Kassa’s slow efforts to keep up. Kassa shifted tactics.

“You listed a lot of things you lost, care to enlighten me?” Her fingertips tapping infuriatingly over the tablet. She glanced up at the Doctor through the rim of her spectacles.

“Oh, Kassa, I could _enlighten_ you on a lot. Ever seen the death of a planet?” The Doctor carelessly spread her hands and re-folded them in her lap.

“Only in school. Video feeds and such.”

“Ever seen one up close? The people and cities and forests burning.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“I lost my planet, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The Doctor felt her ears grow hot, acid rising to sear the lining of her stomach and lower esophagus. She felt the urge to rush at Kassa, to shake her, _oh you’re_ sorry _, are you?_ She pushed it down. “Yeah. Wasn’t anything natural, like a heat death. Just like that, my home, gone.”

“That’s a lot to lose.”

“And that’s a lot to unpack.”

“You don’t have to unpack it.”

“Thanks.”

Another pause. The Doctor fidgeted with the fuzz in the hem of her hoodie pocket. Not exactly empty anymore. It was a start. Still could use a good spoon. Or a washcloth. One of those tiny bars of soap. Her twitchy fingers ached for the warm metal of her sonic, all that gorgeous Sheffield steel and repurposed Stenza tech. She’d be out of here in a trice, that was certain. She could practically hear the whirling buzz and the resulting clunk of the lock opening, the amber crystal turning in its socket. Even the TARDIS liked this sonic, and had re-outfitted herself to match it—or was that coincidence? No, more likely, in the stabilization from the sonic when she was still a ghost monument, the TARDIS had locked onto the Doctor’s new tastes. The Doctor felt a pang for the TARDIS as well, and for the ready stock of custard creams in the console. Then she remembered she was still in a conversation, though only seconds had passed.

“Have you ever felt alone, Kassa?”

“A few times. Sometimes when we’re alone, it gives us more time to reflect—”

“Not quite what I meant. I mean, have you ever looked into the stars and known for a fact that not a single person out there is like you and in the entirety of the vastness of the universe, all the planets being born and dying, that you are utterly alone?”

“I can’t say I—”

“Because I’ll tell you something, Kassa. I’ve seen it all. And I’m rarely surprised by anything anymore.” The Doctor’s nose wrinkled and smoothed. “Nothing you say or do will affect me because I’ve likely already thought about it. I’ve loved and I’ve lost so much, including my entire identity, my home and my family, more than once. And I can’t reach my friends. Can’t get to my TARDIS, and you’ve trapped me like a rat in an anti-zone, which means I have to live with the fact that the universe is getting by without me. Or it’s not. More likely it’s not because, sounds arrogant, but the universe needs me. And now I have to live with the fact that billions are going to die without me.”

Kassa’s fingers had stopped typing and she blinked, unable to think of anything to say.

“Ryan.”

“Yaz, hey, hi. How are you?”

“It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too. Should come round to Graham’s for tea more often.”

“I try, you know work’s been mad, lot to catch up…”

“Yeah.”

“…Custard creams, really?”

“Aw, you don’t have to cry about it. I thought it would cheer you up a bit. Like old times. They were the D—her favorite.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“…S’mad it’s been three months, yeah?”

“Don’t.”

“All right.”

“…Ethan, Ravio and Yedlarmi all settled into the twenty-first century yet?”

“Taking them a bit to get used to not being on the run from Cybermen. Finding them jobs was a hard sell—no work experience that makes sense in this time. Good job my mate’s friends with a mechanic and Graham’s got good connections through the buses. They don’t ask too many questions.”

“Not to mention, they live in a TARDIS now. Are you and Graham alright?”

“Much as we can be. I spend a lot of time playing Fifa with my mates. Got a reputation to uphold, you know. Tibo’s never been grumpier, but… in a way… it’s good to be back.”

“What do you mean?”

“I missed them, didn’t I? We kept coming back different people, it’s like we were sort of… growing apart.”

“But that was fine. Ryan, it was fine.”

“Maybe for you, but you and the Doc… it was something different for you, weren’t it? …Yaz, come on. It’ll be alright. It will. Things’ll look up. Promise. You’ve still got us. We’re still your family.”

“Oh stars, and my fam. They don’t know I’m alive.” The Doctor leapt to her feet and began to pace, fingering the spoon in her pocket, nestled against the bar of soap, a pebble of cement rubble, and some loose string. She clasped her hands to her forehead, eyes wide.

“Why not?” Kassa inclined her head. It was something around her fifth visit that the Doctor finally let her in a little more. Nothing overly serious, of course, just a bit of light prattle about her fall onto the train in Yorkshire, meeting Amelia Earhart, and the rain bathing bit to kill time, to which Kassa listened eagerly. The Doctor did love telling stories, and an enraptured audience was good entertainment, at least. She had just gotten to the part where the fam told her they wanted to see more of the universe with her when it hit her and she blurted it aloud. Instantly, she felt the panic rising in her chest, up to her temples, into the roots of her hair. If only this spoon were a little more durable and she had a pack of crayons and paper, she could Shawshank her way out… Good film, that. Would only take her a few years, after which she could steal back her sonic, summon the TARDIS and meet the fam in time for tea after their departure from Gallifrey…

“Doctor?” Her head snapped around back to her therapist. “Why don’t they know you’re alive?”

“Oh, er… I kinda left them on a suicide mission.”

“You survived.”

“Narrowly. By the time I got back to my TARDIS, your Judoon goons got me and here I am, marooned.” Her hands fell to her sides.

“We’ve been over this, they’re not _my_ Judoon goons.”

“Part of the same prison system, so yeah, they’re yours.” With a groan, the Doctor let her head fall backward. “Where are we, anyway? What’s this forsaken splotch of asteroid even called?” Inwardly, she kicked herself for not asking sooner. How long had it even been between these appointments and you’re just now asking, Doctor? Brilliant.

“This is an offshoot of Stormcage.”

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. “Stormcage, really? Ever met Professor River Song?”

“Only know of her by reputation. She’s not here, if you’re asking. Different spot.”

“Ah, so you’ve got separate facilities all around. Clever. Suppose if I were in the same place as River, I’d have been out by now.” _Waltzing in and out, smart as she is. Free place to stay, come and go as she pleases. Though I probably had a lot to do with it, a time or two… Imagine the feedback of being there twice at the same time in different bodies!_

“We were discussing your… _fam,_ Doctor.”

The thousand-thousand thoughts that had whirred to life in the Doctor’s brain—rather like stirring a soup pot in which all the vegetables had gone to the bottom—ground to a halt. “What about them?” Her throat went dry.

“They don’t know you’re here. Alive and well.”

“Alive, maybe, Not exactly well. Not all the way.”

“What do you think they’re thinking?”

“I expect…” The Doctor hugged herself, frowning. What was that gnawing in her gut, close to her first liver? Oh, right. It was pain. She pressed her lips together, suddenly not wanting to talk about the fam anymore.

“Whenever you’re ready. Might help to talk about them. What do you think they’re doing now?”

Oh, Kassa. She’d got the hang of talking to the Doctor after their third visit. The Doctor licked her lips. “Alright. Graham’s probably soldiering on. Took him a moment to get his bearings back on Earth, spent some time with friends, kept himself present for Ryan and Yaz. Suspect he got the others jobs through the bus depot.” The Doctor’s hand closed involuntarily around her spoon, her thumb smoothing over the inside of its bowl. “Ryan likely took some time with mates, too. Caught up with Tibo and the others, played some basketball. What was that game he loved so much? Fifa? Yeah, probably took some time to play Fifa. He was so good at it. Checks in on Graham now and again. Yaz…” The Doctor swallowed. Ryan and Graham knew how to handle loss already. Grace had been the catalyst to much of their time together, and they had each other. Yaz was different. Yaz threw herself wholeheartedly into life in the TARDIS, leaving everything behind for months at a time without a second thought. Coupled with her history, her loner tendencies, loss would be different for her, heavier to bear. _We always said she was married to her job…_

“You have to let me out,” said the Doctor quickly. Tears started pricking at her eyes.

Kassa regarded her, eyes calm. “Why’s that?”

“I need to send a message. To my fam. They don’t know I’m in here, they don’t know…” She caught her breath. “It’s probably well beyond the twenty-first century here, isn’t it?” The Doctor ground her knuckles into her forehead. They were long dead by now, anything she sent wouldn’t matter: messages across time weren’t allowed. She forced away the thought of Yaz dying alone. _Just a potential timeline, I can fix it, I’ll…_

“Would it help you to write out what you would say to them, if you could?”

“I don’t know, I don’t…” started the Doctor, furiously scrubbing her eyes. And it dawned on her. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it would.”

“What were you thinking, Yaz? The Doc never taught us to fly the TARDIS, you were mad to give it a go.”

“You were mad to stop me, Graham.”

“Well what about Ravio and them? They still live there, you know, can’t just take their flying house out the neighborhood, you’re having a laugh.”

“It was only gonna be temporary until I found her TARDIS. I’d figure out how to send it back here.”

“Yaz… it’s been months. Think you ought to give it a rest?”

“Not until I know. For sure.”

“Yaz, love… She’d have come back by now, wouldn’t she?”

“Maybe she’s stuck, maybe she’s hurt, she wouldn’t just abandon us like—”

“But she did. She did what she had to do to save us and we can honor her by doing what she said. Live great lives, remember?”

“My life’s not great without her, Graham.”

“That’s the furthest thing from the truth and don’t you know it.”

“…I have to go. Shift starts in half an hour.”

“Can I give you a lift?”

“No, that’s alright, I just… need a moment. Need a walk. Thanks for the tea and custard creams. It was great. Really.”

The Doctor weaseled her way through the ventilator shaft, crawling on her elbows. Been a long time since she’d crawled through vents, she’d almost forgotten the thrill. According to her mental map of the place, the taste of the air, and the sound of electricity buzzing through fluorescent lights, she should be right over the vault of personal effects. She peered down through the slats of an opening: rows upon rows of filing cabinets in every alphabet known to the universe. Might take a while to find her own allotted drawer…

It had taken a couple months of scratching and digging at the wall of her cell with a number of spoons she’d had to nick from the cafeteria when each broke (she’d been allowed out of her cell at meals for good behavior at this point), and then another couple months of crawling back and forth to memorize the navigation of the place, but she’d finally found it late one night. Trust the lowest tech methods to stump the highest security prison, she chortled to herself. No wonder River stuck around Stormcage, she thought. There was an appeal to escape arts. Houdini would be proud, anyway.

Just to be sure, she licked the entrance to the vent, careful not to slice her tongue on the slats. Yes, this dust had just the faintest trace of Artron particles, which danced on the tip of her tongue like soda fizz. She realized she probably wasn’t the only time traveler in the prison.

 _Bloody hair_ , she grumbled, fumbling in her pocket for her string. With it, she tied back the mop that had grown in over the months. _Always in the way_. _I’ll have to ask the TARDIS for a trim when I get back._ Those beautiful auto-trimmers in the fourth bathroom, keeping her look fresh. _First things first_ …

Hair dealt with, the Doctor pulled spoon two hundred and forty-seven from her pocket, using the end of it as a manual screwdriver, the vent slowly swinging open. She lowered herself onto the nearest cabinet, pausing to crouch over the top drawer to read “Ze-Zf” upside-down in the Sontaran alphabet. Well, that wouldn’t do, she thought, slightly impressed that she could still read Sontaran upside down. The cataloguing system here had approximately four billion possibilities for its organization, and finding her own things via any non-Dewey-Decimal system would take ages. What she wouldn’t give to have her sonic…

She tilted her head upward, giving the air a long sniff. Mostly, it smelled like parchment and ink, manila folders: it seemed the personal effects vault was also the place for manual files. But then, on the edge of her olfactory bulb… _yes_. She could smell faintest trace of more Artron energy, the scent rocketing around in her brain. On the ground below her, she spotted a paper clip. Brilliant.

Following her nose, the Doctor padded between the rows and rows of cabinets, seeing notecards in Judoonese, more Sontaran, even the language of moisture vaporators (which vaporator in the _universe_ did something horrible enough to end up here?), and finally, _finally_ , Gallifreyan. She turned on her heel, inhaling more forcefully as she ran along the row labeled with the common alphabet rather than the concentric circles she loved to show off knowing when she was younger. Her hearts leapt as she smelled them: the custard creams deep in the pocket of her coat, sparking with the energy signature of her TARDIS, tucked against her sonic, her blessed, brilliant sonic.

And then the alarms went off. In the flashing red lights, the Doctor skidded to a halt before the cabinet that smelled most strongly of her coat and all its contents: beautiful tea bags, rocks and soil and shells and leaves and engine-oil-greasy nuts and bolts she’d picked up along her travels. Quickly, she bent the paper clip into a pick, shoving the end of her spoon into the lock along with it.

“Nearly there,” she muttered to herself, keeping a sharp ear for approaching boots. The paper clip scraped against the inner workings of the lock, and the makeshift pick turned. “Yes!” The drawer popped open and the Doctor dressed quickly, pausing only to hug her coat, surprised by the sudden spring of tears as she inhaled the smell of her TARDIS, the space-time vortex, home. The trousers and shirt were rather baggier than she remembered; she was small before, but prison food had not included custard creams. Or much teatime, in fact. Which reminded her. She plunged her hand into an inner pocket, snatching her sonic and the desired, extremely stale biscuit.

“I know you’re not fond of being summoned,” said the Doctor, screwing up her face as she held her sonic aloft, amplifying her consciousness across time and space, “but I _really_ need you right now.” She shoved the whole biscuit into her mouth and nearly broke her favorite bicuspid. Sucking on the custard cream instead, she heard the pound of security boots rushing toward her and she squeezed her eyes shut. And there it was: the wheezing, whorling, rushing sound she hadn’t heard in months, capped by the thud that never failed to run a thrill through her veins, the thud that meant a new adventure was outside the door. She opened her eyes and they overflowed, the TARDIS control room bright and amber around her.

She seized tight to one of the crystal pillars. “You made it, thank you, thank you, you beautiful bright old ghost monument. Now, we haven’t a moment to lose—”

“No thanks for the captain?”

The Doctor’s eyebrows shot upward and she looked over her shoulder. Jack Harkness leaned lazily against the console, grinning.

“Wasn’t much of a rescue mission. Your box had just let me in. It’s good to see you, Doctor.”

Kassa sprinted down the hall, stopping outside the Doctor’s cell and palming the security panel. The cell was empty, but for the letters and drawings papering her walls. At the time, it was a good idea for the Doctor to be able to write her thoughts to her friends. If Kassa didn’t know better when she first saw them, she’d have thought the sketches and writings were the works of a madwoman. Now she wasn't so sure they weren't.

“Doctor?” she called to the empty cell. No response. Kassa paced the perimeter, trailing her hand along the wall, over the letters and inventions, all the writing in circles she could never understand but had been told were a very old language. She stopped over the head of the bed, where the Doctor had posted the letters to her fam, as she called them. One of the corners was peeling off the wall, and Kassa gave it a small pull. Of course. She couldn’t keep from laughing: a tunnel, just big enough for a smallish woman to crawl through, extended inward behind the paper.

Kassa wiped tears from her eyes. She hoped the Doctor actually did manage escape after all that effort. She collapsed into sitting on the bed.

When she had sobered, she saw the letter in her hand, dated back to their eighth meeting, immediately after paper and pencil had been secured, was addressed to Yaz:

_Dear Yaz,_

_I hope you’re all right. I know this letter won’t ever find you, but all the same. It’s been ages since Gallifrey. Are you back on your rounds? Did you go back to being PC Khan while I’m away? I hope so; you were a good officer from day one, then taking on an alien invasion first chance you got. No, not the gathering coil and Tim Shaw, me! You always took my stuff in stride, you’re the first to jump into the unknown and that is brilliant, Yasmin Khan. You are brilliant, always have been._

_Listen, I know we left things on Gallifrey a touch tense. Thing is, in all the possibilities I’m dreaming up constantly, all the ideas zooming around in my brain, there wasn’t another option. You know, as I told you, I’d give my life to save yours in a heartbeat. You and the fam, you’re my best friends. I had to give myself up in the hopes you’d be able to do what I asked and live your lives. If you’re indeed PC Khan again, I’m so proud of you. But then again, I’d be proud of you anyway because you’re Yasmin Khan. You’ve walked among the stars and they never once scared you off from my side. I know you’re doing great things while I’m gone. Promise I’ll circle back when I’m out and you can tell me all about it._

_That’s another thing, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t come back yet. Funny story, but as soon as I got off Gallifrey back to the TARDIS, a platoon of Judoon hacked in and spirited me away to this prison facility on some remote asteroid in some far off time as of yet undetermined. I’ll have to update the TARDIS security settings when I get back, can’t have that kind of rude entry again. Prison could be better: my pockets are empty (hate that), there’s no biscuits (hate that, too), and they seem to think they can rehabilitate me for whatever it is they’ve imprisoned me. My psychiatrist has given me pencil and paper so I can write you, even if I never get to send it._

_You probably think I’m dead, don’t you?_

_Yaz, I’m sure Graham and Ryan have settled by now. Don’t forget to check in with them, they’ll keep you company, help you cope. Unless I’m way off the mark, I suspect you’ve taken this development the hardest. I remember you saying you wanted more time with me, and you’ll have it, wait and see! But in the meantime, while you think I’m dead, and while you’re back to being PC Khan or even DI Khan, or just plain Yasmin Khan in whatever you decide to do if you’re not back to being a police officer, do me a favor? Don’t lose hope. Yaz, you’re so brave and smart and sensitive, but that’s a good thing! Kindness, empathy, it’s what makes us good, it’s what makes you brilliant at being yourself, at your job, and a whiz at time travel._

_I learned something about myself from the Master. I thought for a while, as I was stewing in this solitary cell, that I was utterly alone in the universe, my planet in ashes, my fam scattered back to Earth. But then I thought for a bit longer and I realized, I’m never alone in the universe._ You’re _somewhere out there in the universe, my fam, and you think of me while I’m dreaming of you and writing you letters. I’m not alone with you in this universe, and that’s enough to make me happy when I need it most._

_Whatever you do, don’t give up. Even if I don’t make it back to you, don’t ever give up. Your life will be glorious, even without me, though I very much hope I’ll find my way back to you. Because you and Graham and Ryan? I love you. You’re my fam, and I’m coming back for you._

_Take care. I’ll see you soon._

_Love,_

_The Doctor_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hi!
> 
> I've been marinating on this idea for a while and I'm delighted I managed to write it in less than 24 hours. Honestly, we all just need a little therapy in these times. Never hesitate to reach out if you need help, friends.
> 
> This is a direct prequel to my other one shot, "Feel Alive" in which I think all this angst is paid off... I'll let you be the judge of that.
> 
> As always, be honest and kind. Smash any buttons you like, check out my other one shots if you liked this, and your comments are a neverending source of joy for me.
> 
> Take care,  
> Jo


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